NOVEL LINKS

NOVELS PENDING POSTING

Part One:  The Triptych

Chapter Two

I smiled, and watched as Father Jarvick and Father Merric stood frozen, partly in shock and amazement that the very need─the need for me─had been fulfilled, and partly in fear.  After all I am Vampir.  Sweat beaded on their foreheads.  The slight tremble of driven terror reverberated through their stiff bodies.  Fear had done its duty and aptly paralyzed them, narrowing that solitary moment to a nearly infinite singularity.  I made no movement.  I remained turned towards them, silently awaiting the eventual reply.  I knew it would come and I assumed it would be Father Jarvick to speak first.  He had met me once prior and was a man of great courage and constitution.  Often I referred to him as “The Iron Cloth,” as rarely was he overcome.  Fear, what a powerful tool.  Over the years, fear had enslaved nations of people to others; fear had brought unscrupulous leaders to supreme power overnight.  There is no more powerful tool than fear─except unconditional love.

            However, despite its supreme power over mankind, love is unexplainably indefinable.  Humankind has clearly defined fear, hate, envy, doubt, rage, anger, and all other manner of negative feelings and motivations─yet the command was to love one another and humans were of the image of God and God is love, and it remains a relative and incomprehensible mystery of God.

            I do not feel emotions anymore.  I can only judge the reactions of others to me, and fear reigned, so I adapted to use the tools I had.  I will survive.

            My penetrating eyes never broke from the gaping stares of Father Jarvick or Father Merric.  A simple pile of seconds trickled past at a stretched pace, and at length it appeared as if Father Jarvick was suppressing the initial fear.  His mouth moved; he struggled to find words.

            “Trenton?” he finally managed to utter softly, without a waiver, “What are you doing here?”

            I smiled, “You asked for me did you not?” then looking at Father Merric, “You need me right?”

            Father Merric stood astonished and finally managed his first few words to me, “Yes, yes, we need you─the Catholic Church needs you.”

            “The Catholic Church does not know of this trouble, they do not know.”  I offered casually, to just push the needle a little deeper.

            “You were listening?” questioned Father Jarvick, “How much did you hear?”

            “I heard that the Eldrich Coven has a new member─a member, from what I have heard, who now controls the actions of the Coven, through fear.” My voice was plain; almost matter of fact, almost.

            “Do you know this man’s name?” Father Merric sarcastically snapped back.  “Or are your sources limited to generalities?”

            I despise ignorance, and to have such a taunting affront was another indication of his fear.  Though Father Merric and I rarely meet on equal terms, to him, I was, and am, the apocalyptic abomination.  It must have pained him to require my aid.  Then again I, just as well as he, understood the dangers of the Book of Mordant.

            A lesser of two evils, in the end, in his eyes, I was nothing but evil, though I broke no mortal laws, though I still followed the sacrament, because of what I was, I was evil.  It was an inescapable conclusion.  At length I decided I should fill him in on the intricacies of my knowledge, at least to some extent.  “His name, “I began slowly and quietly, “Is Aamos Salle the III.”  Aamos was born unto Patrick Salle and Eva Monroe, two desperate people struggling to eat, to survive.  The farm was dwindling away as Aamos grew older.  He was nine when his father died in the fields harvesting and his mother took ill, of broken heart and sorrow, and withered away over three years.  At twelve, Aamos was orphaned─abandoned by his mortal parents.”

            “So they died?” questioned Father Merric, interrupting me as I was speaking of the tale.

            “Yes,” I continued, while casting my unblinking stare in his direction, “He had been orphaned.”

            I paused a moment half expecting another interruption, but when none came, I continued: “There was no orphanage, there were no relatives.  The church took pity on him and took him in.  It was at that esteemed church that Aamos stumbled upon an old tomb which discussed the Book of Mordant and its power. From there his story ended, Aamos had vanished from the church for thirteen years, then he surfaced at the Vatican.  Before I could find him, he had gone, taking the Book of Mordant from the Dead Vaults.”

            I stopped and shifted my gaze between the Fathers, I had said my piece and proven my knowledge, though I am sure I surpassed what he, Father Merric, expected from me.

            “I don’t understand something,” Father Jarvick added shaking his head, “The Book had been condemned to the Dead Vault.  To approach the Church─in any fashion would be welcoming death with a smile and ensure a place in hell.”

            I nodded my agreement silently.  The Book is evil, embodying the darkest rituals and incantations that Hell could forge.  Though I have never touched the Book I can feel the power emanating from it.  “The Book has twisted him,” I offered flatly. “He will not stop until he is absolute.”

            “Absolute?” Father Merric raised his eye brows.

            I smiled, “Yes Father, absolute.”

            “Why the Eldritch Coven?”

            “He is human,” I added, “And to be absolute he needs power and immortality.  The Coven has been trying to free the Gate for hundreds of years, I am sure Aamos would know this.”  Would the Eldritch Coven help him for long was the real question, and that answer was not clear.  Aamos had brutally murdered one of the seats, but that fear can hold only so long.  It could all come crashing down.

            Suddenly I felt an icy wave wash over me and instantly I was wracked with a deep pitted nausea.  The soul shuddered and it rippled into and through the flesh.  I strained to stop the shudder but I twitched, it was beyond control.

            Father Jarvick cocked his head slightly and looked deeper at me─he has seen the twitch, and I do not twitch.  “Trenton, are you okay?”

            I had to collect my thoughts.  The wrenching nausea was powerfully present and I felt cold.  Not the cold you feel in the frozen winter, but a cold from within that could not be reheated.  It was a dismal feeling which remained─latched to my inner threading.

            “Aamos is using the Book, casting a dark sorcery.  I can feel it─the evil.”  I focused my answer to Father Jarvick, who remained motionless─his heart skipped a few beats.

            Father Merric stared at me, with eyes that questioned my statements and my integrity.  “How do you know, with such certainty, that it is Aamos using the Book of Mordant, and not just your inhuman nature clouding your sensations?” he said smirking.

            “I know more than you know old man.”  The retort was quick and decisive and I knew I cut deeply and wounded his fragile and plainly mortal pride.

            “Stop this,” Father Jarvick stated harshly, “We must work together. This is not some lone Vampir on a blind ideological quest to free his brothers, but a powerfully equipped Coven, whose capabilities reside among the unknown.”

            He was right; I could not deny the simply obvious.  After a few silent moments of studying Father Merric’s raging eyes and listening to the rapid hard pounding pulse of his heart, I knew he was enraged.  I turned my gaze from him, and then turned my whole body, placing my back to them and again facing the crucifix, which hung in the chapel.  “Finis ex voto.”

            “Finish by the pact?” Father Jarvick asked softly, his voice only a frail whisper.

            “Yes.  It was a promise I gave Marcus, Volstov, Aaron, and Zion, on the day that I took possession of one of the portions of the Relic.  That was three hundred and thirty four years ago in 1508 in Moscow.”

            I knew that Father Merric had no knowledge of the intricacies of the history involved there and I was unsure of the depth of knowledge that Father Jarvick possessed.  They knew I was Vampir, and to a point they tolerated that issue.  In the depths of my wandering thoughts, I knew this was why I could relieve myself of the title of fear and take on a new mantel of hope.  Though I personally doubted it would do any good, but I had made my pact years ago.  And I could never change that I was one of the Damned, a Vampir.

            The hunger crept on me, and the vividly pulsating veins on Father Merric’s neck clearly became evident.  I could taste the rich iron of his blood─feel the warmth─flowing steadily from his limp body to rejuvenate my corpse.

            When I heard the shifting body behind me, I knew it was almost time.  Delicately, without my toes ever touching the ground, I turned, floating, ever so slightly, to face the two men ─the Fathers.  “I need to talk with Zion or with Marcus.”

            The truth was I would have preferred talking with Marcus, but Zion technically operates as the Triptych’s head.  Despite that fact I had spent several days with Marcus over the centuries, but only a handful of times did I meet with Zion, and when I did meet him it was more of a formality.  Last time I had seen him was thirty eight years ago on the 300^th year mark of the victory over the Vampir.

            “The trip to Christiansburg is much faster,” Father Jarvick added solemnly, “We can take the ferry to France then by train to Paris, then Berlin.  From there we will take it by horseback to Christiansburg.”

            “How long until you arrive there?” I asked, as I knew I would be there in forty eight hours --- long before they could arrive.

            “Ten or eleven days, at best.” Father Merric offered with a stern face and furrowed brow.

            “I trust you will be leaving in the morning?” I pointedly asked Father Jarvick.

            “Yes, of course.”

            “Then I shall take my leave so you can rest tonight,” I said plainly as I walked down the aisle, as they parted to allow my passage.  For only a brief second did I pause at the roughly carved doors of the sanctuary.  “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti,” I whispered and walked out the door.

            It had rained earlier that evening, not the little drizzle London often had, but the torrential rains of a maelstrom, only far shorter in duration.  Still the lingering dampness cooled the air and created pockets of dense fog, which undulated through the nearly vacant streets.  I say nearly vacant as I could hear the dull thudding of shod hooves upon the cobblestone─I could smell the heavy fragrances of the harlot hocking her goods.

            For a few hours I wandered the cramped alleyways and fog bound streets, meandering, looking for a subtle taste─blood.  From my re-birth it was years before I took the blood of a mortal woman.  She had been a recent widow and in her desperation had walked the streets of Paris─she had been well used and was wasting her life.

            Marie was her name.  Her once flowing black hair was tangled, matted, and half covering her face.  Beautiful eyes that had shown depth, compassion, and love stared emptily ahead --- blank.  Grime, sweat, and bruises covered her skin, which was once a wet velvet flesh wrapped around her womanly form.  She had been accustomed to wishful stares and the fantasy of many men.  Then her love died.

            She had given up, there were no children, and there was no hope.  When I met her, she was not frightened, she had pleaded with me to take her─offering her neck to me.

            Initially I refused.  I took her to a small hotel and drew her bath, placing her gently in the waters.  I remember the steam curling up off her flesh and the soft hint of lilac.

            She came to me, rising out of the bath, letting the softly scented water drizzle down her curves, dripping from her thin fingers, dripping from her silky hair, and tiny droplets clung to each supple pink nipple of her breasts.  She was beautiful.  Without hesitation she pressed into me, holding me close, my face at her neck.  Then fingers gripped handfuls of my hair as her wet body soaked my clothes.  Again she pleaded for me to take her.

            For many long moments I held her, listening to her pleading.  Then in one second I tilted her head slightly and sank my teeth into her flesh.  Instantly the swirled bathwater, mingled with her warm blood dripped into my mouth.  She moaned and pulled hard on my hair─I bit down hard─slashing through her warm flesh.  Blood exploded into my mouth and I drank.  I savored her limp body in my arms long after the moans ceased.

            It was pure, and I could never go back.

            I drifted deeper into the fog and then up into the mist─I had somewhere else to be, a person to meet before the trip to Christiansburg.

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